Personal Sun
by HelenaEuphoria
Summary: Jacob Black travels south hoping to escape the pain of his loss. On the way he encounters unusual new friends, possible love and a dark secret about his new home. PLEASE r&r, a work in progress but a really good story.
1. Run

Personal Sun

_So, just some info about this story. I have always loved Jacob the most of any of the twilight characters, though not in the 'OMGZ JaCOB iz lyk totally my bf 3!!' way. I don't do that, so don't you guys worry about that kind of story. I just have always loved Jacobs spunk and personality, no offense guys but the whole 'Bella swoon/get hunted/get hurt and then Edward protect/love/be perfect' thing gets kinda old. They're kinda flat characters and HAVE NO FEAR- EdwardxBella will not be broken up in this story. (rabid Edward fangirls can stop clawing my eyes out now) Honestly I think Jacob deserves someone better, who wouldn't really toy with his emotions so much (yeah yeah hate me for that line : P) but I also understand how difficult if was for Bella to make that decision so I forgive her, and she choose correctly. Anyways this story is meant to be something enjoyable to read, not just one of those stories where 'Jacob comes to my school and falls in love with me! Yays!' which is enjoyable for the writer but not the readers, hopefully this will be an interesting mystery. I'm not sure just yet if there will be any romance, I'm guessing most likely there will be but the strength of this story will come from more then rabid hormonal girls desires to read long passages about Jacob's romance. So, I hope you enjoy it._

_I actually _DO_ own twilight. so there._

Personal Sun

Chapter 1: Run

It was over, I had lost her.

I mean for god's sake my competition didn't even have a pulse. How was I supposed to explain how I lost the love of my life to a dead man? A leech. A bloodsucker.

So I ran, ran from my home, from the misty world of myth and legend that had sustained me for as long as I could remember. Ran away from Jacob Black. Ran away from… I couldn't even think her name. And thinking was a problem as well, eventually the others would phase and would hear my thoughts, but all I could think of was running away from this half lit dark world and run, run into the light.

I headed south and continued until I tired which, though an exceptionally long time, came eventually. I found a hidden glen hoping the region around me would be fairly uninhabited and feel into a deep anesthetic slumber trying to drown the pain in darkness.

I awoke the next day at dusk with the faint voices of the pack in my head- their querying statements, some in kindness and some in judgment, were too much to bear. I phased human, and having had enough sense to bring at lease one full pair of clothes with me, put them on.

I wasn't sure exactly where I was I was but somewhere south of Portland sounded right. I had tried to stay in deep woods following the patches of wilderness that still remained in the area. I hadn't realized it last night but although in the woods I was in very close proximity to a residential neighborhood. I was lucky no one had found me; Sam would have chewed me out if some wandering yellow lab woke up a sneaking werewolf.

I sighed and headed out towards the sound of whizzing cars that my ears picked up. I slunk along the manicured residential lawns, looking like the quintessential image of a juvenile delinquent, a large, lanky teenager skulking around in ratty clothes and long hair. I headed in to what seemed to loosely define a suburban 'town center' a conglomerate of strip malls, their parking lots draining of Volvos, SUVs and minivans. I felt my stomach give an uncomfortable growl, and I reached into my pocket and realized that I had only about 60 on me. I cursed fiercely under my breath wondering how long I could survive in this suburban jungle on my money. Sure I could hunt, but all the prey in this area consisted of overfed dogs. Fixing my eyes on one potentially promising restaurant I entered a seedy looking Chinese food restaurant hidden between a Pizza Hut and a Starbucks, eyeing the 5.99 buffet with shining eyes.

The restaurant had a bar in front with a couple of sad looking middle aged office workers nursing drinks much too strong to be polite while chatting loudly. They stabbed at their greasy noodles and insulted their bosses swiveling in their tall wooden chairs. I paid up and piled my plate high with food, aiming to make the most of my buffet.

As I sat down at a table one of the office workers called to me, a middle-aged lady with hair and an outfit that should have been burned in the eighties. Her heavily shadowed eyes batted,

"Hey there stranger, care for a drink?"

Of course she didn't know how young I was or she would have panicked, I could easily pass for 24 or 25 but still it caught me off guard. I accepted her offer, not because I wanted to pick up an old cougar but because I was hoping that maybe I could forget. The bartender asked what I wanted, and not knowing any drinks, I blurted out the only one I could name off the top of my head.

"Uh…Whiskey, one the rocks," I said trying to feel more assertive then I felt. I took a swig and nearly coughed up a lung; the drink burned my throat and left an aftertaste in my mouth that made me feel like I had just taken a swig of rubbing alcohol. I swore heavily jumped off my chair and ran for the door, not looking back at the desperate women trying to clutch my arm.

I made for the freeway walking on the side of the busy suburban roads, it was beginning to get darks and the looks thrown my way by the drivers became increasingly suspicious. As I walked by some cars stopped at a red light one man reached over to check that his doors were locked. I gave him a cold sneer trying to show as much tooth as possible. I finally reached the entrance ramp for route five and stuck my thumb out hoping for a ride south.

In general hitchhiking is not the greatest idea; you could, for example, get picked up by some crazy axe murderer who would chop you up into lots of little pieces and then hide them where no one would ever find them again. But when you're a six-foot-seven werewolf you don't really worry about these things.

After waiting for hours, a camper truck finally picked me up, taking pity on a poor lost cause. The driver was an older man, his beard a thick bushy white in contrast to his thin body and introduced him self as Abbott. I didn't bother to ask if that was his first or last name and he didn't offer.

He began to talk and talk as I myself had never heard it before, a rambling speech were he began by mentioning a book he had read. It was called If on a Winter's Night a Traveler by Italio Calvino, a compilation of short stories all joined by an overarching theme of two lovers searching for a lost tale. Each of the short stories is cut off just before the conclusion creating an ever more complex labyrinth of stories. He went on to theories of realism and the evolution of literature in the 20th century, throwing out names like Kant, Dostoyevsky and Basho. I had never heard someone talk like this, not for _my _sake but for the purpose of talking of getting across some greater message.

Finally he reached for his coffee mug and asked where I was going.

"Nowhere," I replied, "anywhere sunny"

He laughed, "No job? No love? No family?"

I sighed "No job, lost love, over involved family"

"I see," his eyes where shining "I'm a professor at Stanford University, I teach creative writing and modern literature and I believe I just burdened you with tomorrow's lecture on one of Italy's most brilliant modern writers. But really," he said, "you have no plan at all, that's a bit unusual for a werewolf".

I stared at him and froze _play it cool, play it cool _I thought in my head "pshh, werewolf? What are you talking about old man? I think you've read too many scary stories."

He smiled "Nice try, I was once one too if you're wondering how I know. Once you grow as old as me you gain an innate sense of these things. I could feel your presence from miles away, why else would a nice old man like me pick up a wild hooligan like you? No-," He said reading the shocked expression in my eyes, "I wasn't from your pack, I'm not even going to ask which that is, not mine to know, but I was from another pack from Nunavut in Canada- though that's a story for another day. Look," he continued, "when you get to be an old geezer like me you can sense emotions too and I can tell that you're pretty screwed up right now and I don't want you running round the west coast terrorizing the populace. Come with me back to the University, I'll fix you up with a job and a place to stay- it won't be great, probably custodial work, but I'll try to weasel you into some classes and get you a room."

I was taken aback by the kindness. "Wha—Why?" I asked, still confused.

"I've been there before," he replied, "You're not exactly in your happy place right now and you need some help. We werewolves need to stick together."

My head was spinning, I had always thought that it was just our tribe, that we alone had this mixed curse, mixed blessing. But now, thinking logically, it made sense that there would be others. I smiled, for the first time in days, "I could really use some sun."

We drove south towards morning, towards a new life.


	2. Here Comes the Sun

Chapter 2: Here Comes the Sun

Chapter 2: Here Comes the Sun

I stepped out into the bright California sun reveling in the brilliance and the warmth so different from Forks. It was summer and most of the students were back at home but there was still a lot of work to be done. Abbott, as most people called him, or Professor Reynaldo Abbott PhD, as was stated on the metal plaque on his office door, had managed to wrangle a spot for me on the grounds crew here. I spent my days trimming bushes, mowing lawns and in general caring for the manicured campus. But at night I had the world opened to me, somehow Abbott has granted me access to take classes at night. I wasn't quite sure who was _paying _for these classes but my instincts pointed towards a certain friendly and childless werewolf.

We had arrived that morning after Abbot picked me up with the dawn, my eyes drooping after driving all night from Portland and my head slumped precariously. Suddenly out of a small house close enough to campus to see the large brick bell burst a small sinewy old lady with long, completely grey hair braided tightly and wrapped around her head like a crown. She took one look at me and nodded giving me the sense that she too had some paranormal abilities of perception. She guided me to a guest bedroom and handed me a quilt. I took it and without even bothering to slip under the covers fell fast asleep.

I awoke that day to the smell of eggs and pancakes being cooked on a gas grill. In my head I weighed the work required to leave the comfortable bed with the prospect of eggs and pancakes doused in sugary syrup. I got up and stretched almost reaching the ceiling.

I followed the sent of breakfast to a small sunny kitchen. The old lady stood behind a gas cook top tending to the hot pan. The kitchen was filled with paintings and an open doorway led into a room filled with large canvasses, trays of paint and the strong smell of oil pastels. By the sink brushes sat on clothes drying in the warmth of the sun. The studio and kitchen were worn and well used but obviously carefully maintained and organized.

The women looked up, "My name is Adela, I'm Abbott's wife and, you'll probably find this out sooner or later unless you're a total dolt, a werecyote."

"Wha--," I let out a confused expression "What the F—" She had reached over and smacked me on the head with a wooded spoon before I could continue that sentiment.

"No cussing!" she commanded sternly.

"Oh sorry ma'am," I continued my rebellious spirit and angst disrupted by the sharp blow, "I mean what _is _a werecyote?"

"Same deal as you and Abbott, different phase. We don't have wolves were I come from but we do have leeching bloodsuckers. Our people needed protection so we looked to our friend the trickster. We're not as strong but we're just as deadly."

"Stupid bloodsuckers," I muttered hoping that Adela wouldn't consider stupid a curse. I was enjoying the vamp bashing; it felt nice to commiserate.

"Don't you be using such language," Adela said menacingly, "I can use words like leech and bloodsucker because there is nothing Abbott can do to control me, so help me god. The day my husband tries to tell me what to do is the day I go. You, on the other had, he'll expect to show some respect for his friends."

Friends! Goddammit! Why it is that none of the people I love and befriend obey the natural laws of nature and avoid friends that have a vested interest in killing them and sucking their blood. Not normal. Right now the only way I was going to get within a thousand miles a bloodsucker was if I was going to be tearing him to little shreds.

"Now eat up quick," Adela added sternly, "I've got a big show in LA in a couple of weeks and I've got to get working. You go down to the campus and find the campus grounds management office, they've got a job waiting for you.

And so it started. I worked my days and at night began to take classes that I would have never even dreamed about in LaPush. Engineering, Nanotechnology, Physics, Electronics; at least academically I was thriving. The professors seemed confused by the new student but I caught on quickly and accelerated to the top of the class. These classes came so easy to me, it was like with cars or engines- a little thought and then it came as natural as breathing.

But inside I was a wreck. I would come back to the house distracted by my classes and be functional and happy for an hour or two, though sometimes not even that much. Little things could set me off, send my world screaming- make me want to dig my own grave and bury myself alive. Like seeing a large German Shepard playing fetch on the greens with a small pale girl who cuddled him playfully. Or a motorcycle, any motorcycle. Or the dammed Italian department members, always is walking around with their italianiness speaking _her_ name like it meant nothing, like each word wasn't a shard of kryptonite forced deeper into my heart.

Yet each day the sun shone, shone without regard for my self-serving angst. It was just impossible to stay a miserable wreck in this warm world of light; it is much harder to wallow in self pity in the light then in the hazy murk back home. As much as I wanted nothing to do with anyone, I began to haphazardly make friends; unsolicited and unrequited they attached themselves to me and brought me to the surface, like a safety ring wrapped around a drowning sailor.

It happened one day after physics, the last tangerine rays of the sun were beginning to sink below the tree line. My lab partners Jason and Ankit sidled up to me as I planned to rush home. After a quick conversation and vehement prodding I was pretty much abducted and forced into watching an all night showing of Alfred Hitchcock's best in their dorm. I was sullen yet they were unrelenting and whether I wanted to or not- I felt whole and I felt happy.


	3. In Which There is a Dinner Party

Some nights I would run

**Chapter Three:**

**In which Jacob Starts Seeing Things, a Dinner Party is Thrown and Adela Lectures**

Some nights I would run. Head out into the wilderness, the shrub brush and rough territory surrounding the school and run until my lungs burned, my muscles ached and the faint glow of the new sun pulsed just below the horizon.

At first my pack could hear my thoughts, though not perfectly clear, certainly no more mangled then a telephone conversation. I assured them I was alright but ignored their pleas for my return. I wanted nothing to do with Washington anymore. Eventually as the days passed the connection became more and more faint, one day I realized I couldn't hear them any longer. Immediately the visceral reaction of panic and relief swept over me. Finally, I was alone- but I was truly on my own now.

It was during those nights of running that I realized there was something- strange doesn't cover it- unearthly about my new home. There would be times that my whole body would be on edge my fur stick strait out and my nose catch the slightest whiff of something earthy and spicy, sort of like cinnamon or nutmeg. And sometimes I could hear thoughts, or at least I thought I could hear thoughts- strange particles of conversations and images from long ago. I heard different languages and saw different worlds. But—it really didn't make any sense. _Pull yourself together Jacob_ I thought _keep it together man!_

Abbot was one of those people who would leave you alone if you wanted him to. He believed that everyone should have time to be alone in order to heal. Adela on the other hand was not one of those people. One Thursday evening I crashed in the guest bedroom hoping to get some sleep after work and classes. Suddenly Adela was standing in the doorway looking me over with a critical eye.

"What are you planning on doing this weekend?" she demanded.

"'dunno," I mumbled. She glared.

"Don't you have friends? Don't you think your lab partners will be insulted that you never reciprocated their invitation? Look, you've been moping here and mooching our food and room – I'm not complaining but do you know how much food you eat? I calculated and you ate nine pounds of oatmeal last week and that was just breakfast. Anyways, you're not getting any younger-"

"Technically I'm not getting any older," I interjected and she shot me a look that could kill.

"You need to get over this self pitying attitude. You lost, she's not coming back but that doesn't mean you have to be miserable for the rest of your life. We're having a party this weekend for you this weekend whether you want it or not. It's about time you me the pack."

_The Pack? _I thought _This could be interesting, and how does she know about Be-- her.._. I sighed "Fine."

"Get over yourself," she commanded, "god help me if you start wearing eye make up and singing Simple Plan you will be removed bodily from this house; you're not the only one who's suffered due to love – though you're arrogant enough to think that no one has ever suffered like you." She left turning with such speed and force that her long silver braid smacked me in the face.

"Well—," I couldn't think of a good comeback, "uh—bully to you too."

'_Bully to you to?!'_ I was losing my edge. I really did need to be more social. Soon I would probably start talking mainly to volleyballs or something like that. I swallowed; a party, a pack, and new people… this could be very, very bad.

That Saturday evening I arrived at home after a lab dissection in Neurobio class. Adela sniffed me and the formaldehyde and crinkled her nose. "Excellent choice young werewolf, eau de death," she said sarcastically, "get cleaned up, the guests will be here in about an hour."

Abbott looked up benevolently from his copy of the New York Times with a wry smile on his face as I stomped off to the guest room to shower and change. I had no idea how they had done it but seeing that I had only came with one pair or clothing Abbott and Adela had outfitted my closet with a decent wardrobe that not only fit, but was fairly stylish. I hoped someday I could repay them for their kindness but for now I focused on what I was going to wear. Trying to avoid one of Adela's lectures I chose a baggy pair of cargo shorts and a nice striped collared polo that bore tags from Abercrombie and Fitch. I suspected that Adela and Abbott had chosen the clothes because Abercrombie is such a stereotypical 'cool teen store'. It was nothing that I would have worn at home but Abbott and Adela really wanted me to fit in and be cool I guess. Maybe they wanted me to get some friends so I could leave the house and stop eating their ever precious oatmeal. Anyways, whatever the meaning I appreciated the gesture.

I took a quick shower, changed and was just hanging up my towel when the first ominous doorbell rang…

_DUN DUN DUN!! Cliffhanger… anyways if you haven't already PLEASE PLEASE review the story. I will be 1000 times more likely to write another chapter if I know that someone's reading the story. Because right now I fell like this is all kinda pointless. So pretty please review. And don't be like 'cute story'—because I know they're a lot of stuff that I could fix in this story so be critical, the idea is to improve the writing! _


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